


The Sleep of the Sun

by profdanglais



Series: ...in the forest of the night... [2]
Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Witchcraft, F/M, Family Fluff, Shapeshifting, Witchcraft, Witches, witch lore
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-21
Updated: 2019-10-21
Packaged: 2020-12-27 17:10:07
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,452
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21122318
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/profdanglais/pseuds/profdanglais
Summary: It’s eighteen years after Emma and Killian defeated Cora and her plan to flood their world with dark magic, and the story moves on to their son Liam. A sweet and loving boy with the ability to shift into a dog at will, he is also more observant than his parents give him credit for.And now, as Samhain approaches, something dark is brewing in the forest yet again...Written for @cspupstravaganza, following on from The Very Witching Time and potentially leading to something for next year’s Supernatural Summer...





	The Sleep of the Sun

**Author's Note:**

> ALL the thanks to everyone who encouraged me to continue in this verse which I love so much, including @thisonesatellite and @katie-dub for all their love and brilliant beta skills, and to @teamhook, @kmomof4, @darkcolinodonorgasm and @shireness-says for all the love for puppy!Liam on the Discord. He loves you too ❤️❤️

_The scents of autumn fill his nose as he runs through the forest, the crisp air and the dying leaves and the moist earth. Hints of wood smoke and moss and mushrooms, blackberries and raw chestnuts, all distinct and clear in his head, gradually becoming one with names as his mother teaches him the lore of the forest._

_There is another scent too. It was always there, faint in his earliest memories and growing stronger with each passing year. It’s not a pleasant scent; it’s hard and menacing, dark in a different way to the smell of the leaves and earth. He tried once to explain it to his mother but the look on her face stopped the words in his throat, then she hugged him hard and said she’d take care of it._

_He can smell it now, stronger than ever as Samhain approaches. The turning of the year when the veil between the worlds is thin and his mother and sister perform their ancient rituals of death and rebirth. This year there is worry behind his mother’s eyes as she lights the candles in the windows each morning and unfamiliar stones in the tumbling bowls she places alongside them, and her mouth is set grimly in the evenings as she pores over crumbling books and whispers to his father about knotholes and barriers and darkness. She doesn’t know he can hear her, and Liam is not yet ready for his parents to discover that he hears as a dog does even in human form._

_He ignores the scent today. Samhain is still a week away and he prefers to revel in all the delights the forest holds for an energetic young dog. His ears stream behind him as he races through the trees, his paws that are still too big for his body falling silently on the forest floor. He chases a squirrel until it scurries up a tree, yipping delightedly when it chatters at him from the branches. The squirrel knows as all the forest creatures do that he means it no harm and just likes to see it run. He sniffs a rabbit next and goes to seek it, running faster as the scent grows stronger, as he picks up on its trail. His senses tell him it’s close and then he catches a twitch of motion, a glimpse of a fluffy tail through a gap in the underbrush. He crouches down and his muscles tense in preparation for his pounce and then he hears the call._

_“Liam.” His father’s voice in his head, put there by the connection they share that even his mother can’t explain, and by a spell of hers she could explain but won’t. “It’s time to come home, lad. Dinner’s nearly on the table.”_

_He briefly weighs the merits of being late to dinner in order to catch the rabbit and decides against it. His mother is tense enough as it is. He turns away from the scent trail and races home. The garden gate swings open as he approaches and he dashes through it, yipping a greeting to the garden magic as he goes. As he bounds up the steps his form shimmers with a golden light, stretches, lengthens, the gait shifting as he takes off from four feet and lands on two, and when he opens the screen door it’s as a human child. One small for his age and uncommonly graceful, with blond hair that falls messily into eyes that always match the colour of the sky._

_His mother doesn’t like him to be a dog at the dinner table._

—

“Is that you, Liam?” Emma called from the kitchen as he ran inside, letting the screen door slam shut behind him. “Wash your hands before you come to the table.”

“I _know_, Mom!” he groused, kicking off his shoes before heading upstairs to bathroom he shared with his sister. Quickly he washed his hands, remembering to use soap even though he hated how it smelled, then peeked his head into Rowenna’s room on his way back downstairs. She was sitting cross-legged on her bed, bent over a large, leather-bound book.

“Whatcha reading?” he asked her, and she jumped in alarm.

“Oh! Liam! I didn’t hear you come in.”

He frowned at that. She would’ve had to be really absorbed in her book not to hear him. Their dad claimed he sounded like a herd of elephants going up and down the stairs. “I just asked what you’re reading.”

“Ah. It’s, um, just something for Samhain. Mom’s worried that—” she broke off, flushing guilty pink. “Er— let’s just call it a witch thing. Is it dinnertime?”

“Yeah.” Liam wasn’t always great at picking up on verbal cues but even he could spot this blatant attempt to change the subject. But Wren’s shoulders were tight with the same tension their mother had been carrying in hers the past few weeks, so he smoothed out his frown and let it go.

“What are we having?” she asked him.

He sniffed the air. “Pumpkin soup and grilled cheese.”

“Mmm, perfect.” She shut her book and set it aside, stretching and rolling her shoulders as she got up from her bed. “Hey,” she said, putting her arm around him. “I think you’re getting taller!”

“I’m not,” he grumbled. “I’m still too small.”

“No such thing as too small, or too big,” she replied, squeezing his shoulders. “Just the size you are. And remember, Dad says he was small for his age until he was about seventeen, then he grew like eight inches in one summer. I bet that’s what happens to you.”

“That’s still six years from now,” said Liam, with a hint of a whine just creeping into his voice. “That’s for_ever_.”

Rowenna laughed with all the wisdom of her own sixteen years. “It’ll come eventually,” she said. “Let’s go eat.”

In the kitchen they found their parents standing next to the stove, kissing. At the sound of the door opening Killian broke the kiss but leaned his forehead against his wife’s, his thumb brushing gently across her cheek as he murmured quiet words and she nodded. Liam’s sharp ears picked up the sound of his father’s voice clearly but he quickly tuned it out before his brain could register any of the words, concentrating on the the bubbling of the soup and sizzling of the grilled cheese, and on Rowenna’s long-suffering sigh. Some things he knew instinctively were not for him to hear.

Rowenna stomped to the table and dragged her chair from under it with a drawn-out whine of wood on flagstones, muttering _right here in the kitchen_ and _like they’re my age_ just loudly enough for her parents to hear. Emma and Killian pulled apart, he to smirk at his daughter and she to brush her fingers over her eyes and turn back to the stove.

“Liam,” she called, “Come here so I can check your hands.” He approached and held them out for her to inspect. She made a show of examining them closely, turning them over and sniffing them. “You used soap?” she asked sternly, a smile hovering just at the corners of her mouth.

She must know he had, but he played along. It was their special silly game. “_Yes,_ Mom, jeez.” He rolled his eyes, unconsciously imitating her own much-used gesture.

Her smile widened, then began to quiver at the edges and for a terrible moment he thought she might cry. Instead she pulled him into a tight hug. “I love you, kid,” she whispered.

He wished he was in dog form so he could lick her face and make her laugh, wag his tail so hard it took the rest of his body with it. Human words were just not enough to express what he felt for her. For all his family.

“I love you too, Mom,” he said anyway, and squeezed her back.

She held him for another brief moment then kissed his head. “Go sit down, I’ll bring the food in a minute.”

Liam went to the table sat down in his chair next to his dad, who grinned at him and ruffled his hair.

“How was your run, lad?”

“Good. I almost caught a rabbit.”

“Almost, hmm?” Killian raised an eyebrow.

“I _would’ve_ got it, but then _someone_ made me come home for dinner,” retorted Liam, and his father laughed.

Emma set a bowl of soup in front of him, and a plate with a crispy golden sandwich oozing warm cheese. Liam wagged his butt in his seat. It wasn’t always easy, he reflected, having a witch for a mother. You never got away with telling lies, even tiny harmless ones like _no of course I didn’t knock over that vase with my tail,_ and it wasn’t always clear what things in the kitchen were food and what were spells. But one undeniable upside was that your grilled cheese stayed oozy no matter how long it took you to finish it. He picked up half of it —cut into triangles just as he liked— and watched the cheese strings stretch. He stretched them as far as he could until they snapped, sprung back and stuck to his arm. He giggled.

“Try not to make too much of a mess,” Emma chided, but her smile was indulgent. Liam wrapped the cheese strings around the corner of the sandwich and dipped it into his soup. He breathed deeply as he took a bite, enjoying the rich smell of the pumpkin that had been growing in the garden just that morning, the fresh ground spices his mother added to it, the crispy sage leaf on top and the drizzle of hazelnut oil, the buttery bread and the salty cheese.

The four of them ate in silence for a minute then Emma spoke.

“Did you find anything, Wren?”

“Not yet. But I’m only halfway through the book, I’ll do the rest after dinner.”

Emma hesitated, a frown wrinkling her brow, then shook her head. “No, it’ll wait until tomorrow.”

“Mom, I can do it—”

“No. We still have time, and you have homework.”

“Homework might not matter in a week,” muttered Rowenna, not quite under her breath.

Emma gave a little hiss of warning and Killian frowned at his daughter. Liam concentrated on his soup, canine senses on full alert.

“Just _saying_,” huffed Rowenna. “You’re both being very relaxed about this when it could easily—” Emma hissed louder and Rowenna broke off, scowling. “Fine,” she grumbled. “Not like anyone ever listens to me anyway. Now I know how Cassandra felt.”

“Because you did your homework,” Killian pointed out. “Otherwise you wouldn’t know who Cassandra even was. Would you?” He waggled his eyebrows at Rowenna, who managed to hold back her giggle for nearly ten seconds.

“All right, point taken,” she laughed. “_Stop_ it, Dad, you look like you’re having a stroke.”

Killian laughed too and Liam grinned into his soup. Even Emma chuckled, the lines of worry in her forehead smoothing out and her eyes twinkling.

After dinner Liam, his own homework completed, stood at his window watching the moon rise over the tops of the trees, large and pale and nearly full. In a few days it would be a Hunter’s Moon, and glow dark orange in the sky. He loved the moon normally, but tonight it gave him an uneasy feeling, like a prickling beneath his skin. He shifted into dog form and snuck on silent paws to Wren’s door, finding it open a tiny crack. Nudging it open further with his nose, he slipped inside. His sister was curled up on her bed with a book in her hand, a school paperback this time, and a notebook lying open next to her. With a graceful leap Liam bounded up onto the bed and licked her face.

“Hey.” She laid her book aside and hugged him, running her hands soothingly through his fur. “Everything okay?”

Barking would draw their parents’ attention, so he gave a small whine and licked the tip of her nose. “Yeah,” she said with a sigh. “Stuff’s a bit unsettling right now. Want some lap time?”

He whimpered louder, bathing her face in enthusiastic kisses. She chuckled and sat up, crossing her legs to make a spot for him. “Curl on up then,” she said.

Liam had heard of sibling rivalry —mostly from his cousin Leo, who had eight year old twin sisters— but he had never felt it himself. He loved his sister. He loved everyone.

“A true canine nature,” laughed his father, who understood. Just as Liam understood that there were times when his dad missed being a dog.

Wren also understood. As witches tended to be she was close to nature, her connection to the forest magic remarkable even for the women in their family. She knew the exact moment the geese began their journey south each autumn and she felt when the first buds of tender green burst open on the trees each spring. And she more than anyone else in his family knew when Liam just needed to curl up in a lap and have someone scratch his ears.

“Did I ever tell you I asked Mom once if I could learn to be an animagus?” she asked him as her clever fingers found the precise spot where he most loved to be rubbed. “So I could go running in the forest with you. But she said that’s only in Harry Potter and that your magic is unique. She said it probably owes a bit to traces of Dad’s curse, but most of it is just you.”

She leaned down to rest her cheek against his head. “I know you feel the weirdness in the forest right now. You can probably smell it.”

He whimpered in affirmation.

“I thought so. I wish I could tell you what’s going on but Mom swore me to secrecy and actually we aren’t completely sure. But whatever it is, Mom and Dad will handle it. You know that, right?”

He risked a tiny yip and licked her wrist. She kissed his head and picked her book back up, continuing to pet him as she read. Liam snuggled deeper into her lap and closed his eyes. As he slipped into slumber, he realised that his unease from earlier was gone. Because Rowenna was right. Whatever was going on in the forest that his family wasn’t telling him —still insisting on protecting him even though he was_ almost twelve_— he was certain there was no magic his mother couldn’t handle, no mystery his dad couldn’t solve. They would take care of it, _of course_ they would. That was what they did.


End file.
